Hurricane Harvey 2.0

The Hurricane Harvey rubble in this picture belongs to Kyle and Jennifer. I “know” Jennifer because she is the woman who leads worship during a Bible study I attend on Wednesday afternoons through Yes. Ministries, headed up by one of my favorites, Laura Seifert.

Get this — Jennifer has eight kids. Her ninth one is due in two days.

Laura and her friends, many who have extensive flood damage themselves, are rallying around this family. And I’m here to tell you it’s happening all over the southern portion of my state. I don’t know where the helpers are coming from. I don’t know how they get here. They seem to be multiplying. If I wasn’t so happy about it, I’d be creeped out.

They demo.
They clean.
They cook.
They do laundry.
They babysit.
They drop off gift cards.
They donate the entire contents of their house.
They make lunches and pass them out to strangers.

Helpers sit and console dazed folks who watch as their livelihood is taken apart piece-by-piece and is placed in garbage bags to sit in their front yards for who knows how long.

My book comes out in February. Since I have a non-traditional job, I recently found myself praying for an opportunity to fill my days with something productive in lieu of working myself into a frenzy about if people will or won’t by the darn thing. The good Lord heard me and now I’m organizing work gloves, bottles of Pine Sol, and face masks in the kitchen area of my church.

I’m the Field Supply Coordinator or Field Czar in some circles. If our teams out on the job need something, they call me and I get it to them. If they want something, I find it and get it to them. I’ve been doing this since the Thursday before Labor Day. The helpers show up every morning, grab the few tools we have, and head out to people in need. Then it happens again around noon with the half-day shift. Then the helpers all return back with sore backs, blistered fingers, tired eyes, and a humbled look that screams, “Well done my good and faithful servant.”

Here are the things that have made me happy this week:

When a supply of hammers and two wheel barrows arrived.

A phone call from Alissa at Arise Africa telling me that the truck full of goods her donors and my readers collected is ON ITS WAY.

The time I had the pleasure of explaining to a six-year-old how we were helping the helpers who are helping the people whose houses flooded as he stared at rows and rows and rows of bleach.

I actually cried when five de-humidifers showed up.

When my friend told me she purchased a new American Girl Doll for her best friend’s daughter. The little girl cried and said, “YOU FOUND HER!!!” And everyone just teared up and nodded. Yes, baby girl. We found her.

The boys who drove in from a junior college in Dallas to help us out. They found us by typing in “church, Houston, work crew” into Google. Bless their sweet hearts. And their young muscles. Those sure did come in handy.

It’s an interesting time to be recovering from devastation. Yes, we are Houston strong and have a weird affection for our state, but what I’ve seen personally is the hands and feet of Christ. My friend Stephanie said it best with this text:

“We are thankful that thousands of years ago, God poured out something stronger than flood waters. He covered us with the shed blood of Jesus Christ and commissioned us to, above all else, love our neighbors well.”

Harvey is a soft ball pitch for us to practice this command. We will take this time of heartbreak to sharpen those skills. And we will be wiser, more compassionate, and fulfilled people as a result.

For our hope is built on nothing less, than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.